


Red Daisies

by windsthatwhisper



Series: Black Sunflowers [2]
Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mob, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Desk Sex, Established Relationship, Light Dom/sub, M/M, slight exhibitionism, slightly possessive Behavior
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2020-08-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:08:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25917118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/windsthatwhisper/pseuds/windsthatwhisper
Summary: “Sir,” says the man in a charcoal suit with a terrible orange beard and a grimace, “this is highly unprofessional.”Patrick raises a single, bushy eyebrow. He leans back, one hand still gripping tight to one of Jonny’s asscheeks, just enough to show the gun holstered on his hip. A warning. The guy with the beard shifts nervously.
Relationships: Patrick Kane/Jonathan Toews
Series: Black Sunflowers [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1880884
Comments: 10
Kudos: 73





	Red Daisies

**Author's Note:**

> I have no explanation for this fic other than the fact that I had more inspiration (e.g. Kaner’s fluffy quarantine — and sometimes gelled — hair and Jonny’s nudist tenancies.) So. This was born.

Jonny knows how mob business is. He knows that the men that Patrick meets with are some of the most dangerous people in the world. He knows that the business they talk about is extremely important, both to the mob in itself and the people involved. 

But.

But Jonny woke up today with Patrick kissing up and down his neck and grinding his leaking cock against Jonny’s, but just as Jonny was rolling over to kiss him, Patrick was taking a phone call and slipping out of bed and into the bathroom. By the time he came out, Jonny was soft and Patrick had to go handle some business. 

Jonny’s been horny all day. He’s tried to busy himself with chores and paperwork and playing with the kids, but there’s a little tingle in the back of his pelvis that keeps him on edge. 

And then Patrick comes back, and he’s _bloody._ His suit and shoes are splattered with blood, a few dried drops in his hair. For a brief, horrifying moment, Jonny thinks that it’s Patrick’s blood, that he’s _bleeding out,_ but as Patrick gets closer he sees that it's not coming from him; it’s blood from someone else that’s splattered onto his clothes.

Jonny shouldn’t find it so hot. Patrick— he _murdered_ someone. Shot them, most likely. But, _fuck._ There’s just something so dominant about it that makes Jonny’s half-hard dick stand to full mast in seconds.

“Hey, babe,” Patrick greets him, sounding tired when he finally gets over to Jonny to kiss him sweetly, a complete 180 from the picture he’s presenting.

Jonny gives him a once-over. “Get some business done?”

Patrick’s lips shiver upwards into a little smirk. “How’d you know?”

Jonny kisses him again and grinds his bulge into Patrick’s hip. Finally Patrick’s home, alive, and dripping sexiness so thick that Jonny’s only a hair away from ripping Patrick’s pants down the seams. 

Patrick drags him close, one arm around his waist, and sucks on Jonny’s tongue. Jonny’s toes curl against the hardwood, but before either of them can get any farther, Patrick’s phone pings with a series of notifications. 

Patrick groans, but it’s not the sexy kind. He pulls away with a frown. “Reminders.”

Jonny huffs, taking a step back and untangling himself from Patrick’s arms. Patrick smiles apologetically. “Got a meeting in a half-hour. Need to shower and get out of this suit.”

Jonny grumbles, annoyed, and pulls off Patrick’s suit jacket. _“I_ could get you out of this suit if you’d _let me.”_

Patrick chuckles through his nose and takes his jacket back. “Soon, babe,” he promises, kisses him again, and goes off to shower. 

So yeah, Jonny’s feeling really _fucking_ horny right about now, and there’s no boyfriend in sight to fix it. Patrick’s been in that meeting for an hour already, and from what Jonny’s heard where he was eavesdropping, it doesn’t sound close to being done. 

Jonny hits their private gym to burn off his annoyance and try to distract him from the semi he’s sporting. He gets in some weight lifts but focuses primarily on the treadmill. He needs to run, needs to feel the burn in his chest to distract him from the ache in his cock. It does hardly any help.

He’s partially suspicious that Patrick got him worked up on purpose — because their relationship is half centered around a game of cat and mouse, respective roles being changed depending on the day. (The other half is the major codependency that keeps Patrick alive and Jonny coming back time and time again.)

But then he remembers that Patrick would ditch all types of important shit just to fuck Jonny in their massive California King on top of their stupidly expensive silk sheets. If Patrick left Jonny hard in bed for business that had a follow-up meeting half an hour later, it’s probably important. 

However, meetings can be rescheduled. Especially when the boss of the Chicago mob says so. Especially when Jonny tells the boss of the Chicago mob to say so.

Jonny stops the treadmill, breathing heavy, and a droplet of sweat that was slipping down his face gets inhaled through his nose. He sneezes, grimacing, and wipes his face off with his towel. He looks down, realizing that he’s only in compression shorts and a white shirt that’s been soaked through. There’s sweat running down his legs, droplets already beading back up on his face where he’s just wiped it dry. 

Of course, that’s when inspiration strikes.

He grabs his things and heads back up to the condo. He takes a peek down to Patrick’s office but finds that the door is still closed and the voices have gotten louder, more agitated. Jonny finds himself sneering a little at the sound of the voices of Patrick’s ‘guests.’

Jonny goes into their bedroom, dropping his things on the bed as he strips from his sweaty shirt and makes a beeline straight for Patrick’s closet. It’s mainly suits, because that’s all Patrick really wears, but there’s also a good handful of normal clothes, primarily worn to bed or when they’re in public and he doesn’t want to stand out. 

There are only about three shirts out of that handful that are t-shirts, soft and thin, that only Jonny gets to see him in. The head of the mob has to dress like it almost 24/7, which Jonny understands, but Patrick’s always been more comfortable in leggings and soft t-shirts than stiff suits. 

He grabs an old Sabres one. It’s long-sleeved and worn soft from all its uses. It’s one of Patrick’s favorites because it reminds him of his childhood, before Smith and the mob got involved in his life. Back when he could talk to his sisters and hug his mother without worrying that an enemy would see. 

It’s also big on Jonny, wide instead of long, and it droops a little down his shoulders when he slides it on. Patrick has such wide shoulders compared to Jonny, and his chest and torso are thick where Jonny’s is thinner — still muscular, _thank you._ Jonny’s torso is longer, though, so the shirt doesn’t fall too far down, just a little ways past his pelvis. The shirt falls just above his cock and balls that are concealed by the compression shorts but prominent enough that Patrick will notice. There’s no way he won’t. 

(Their guests might notice, too.)

He’s still damp with sweat. It’s not rolling down his body anymore, instead now a light layer of perspiration, but it still looks like sweat, and that’s all that matters. 

He makes the short walk to Patrick’s office. But he pauses when he gets to the door. Logically, he knows that this is a bad idea. One wrong move and the mob could have a very powerful enemy on their hands — though, he’s not quite sure who Patrick’s meeting with. It could be a government official or an enemy mob, but it could also be some puny CEO who’s bad at business and needs some extra cash. 

He also knows that Patrick would slice someone down the middle with a knife if they tried to hurt Jonny. Still, it’s nerve-wracking. 

He bites the bullet anyway, giving a curt nod to Crow and Kirby who are standing outside the door before he knocks. The arguing stops abruptly the sound, and the room falls so quiet that Patrick’s stern, “Come in,” sounds like he’s talking into a speaker.

Jonny opens the door. Patrick’s agitated face softens when he sees that it’s him, but it tightens up again when his eyes roam down Jonny’s body and he sees the state he’s in. Jonny feels triumphant when he notices Patrick’s pupils dilate. 

Patrick pushes the sleeves of his shirt up to his elbows and lays an arm across the edge of his desk. “What is it?”

Jonny walks inside, ignoring the eyes glued to his body as he closes the door and leans against it. “Dinner’s almost done,” he says, easy, “Wanted to know how much longer you’d be so I know if I need to make you a plate or save some for later.”

It’s a lie, and Patrick knows it; he can tell by the minute eyebrow raise and the twitch of his mouth as he tries to fight back a smile. Patrick has his number, and with a glance over to their audience, he knows exactly what Jonny’s up to. 

He raises a hand and motions with a finger for Jonny to come closer. Jonny does as he’s told, sliding off the door and sauntering over to his boyfriend. Patrick sprawls out his legs to make room as Jonny fits himself between them, settling both of his hands on Patrick’s shoulders. 

“Shouldn’t be too much longer,” Patrick tells him, slipping his hands from Jonny’s waist to his ass and giving his cheeks a nice good squeeze. 

Someone behind them clears their throat. “Sir,” he starts, and when they both turn their heads, they find it’s a man in a charcoal suit with a terrible orange beard and a grimace, “this is highly unprofessional.”

Patrick raises a single, bushy eyebrow. He leans back, one hand still gripping tight to one of Jonny’s asscheeks, just enough to show the gun holstered on his hip. The guy with the beard shifts nervously.

Patrick looks back up to Jonny, then drags him back between his legs. “Now that I think about it,” he adds, “I think this meeting is over.”

Indignant protests start to bubble up from the group, _“But we didn’t reach an agreement,”_ but Patrick silences them with a sharp look. He stares at them until they squirm and start grabbing their things. 

“Mr. Browning,” Patrick calls, eyes flicking over to Jonny’s and keeping them there, “We can schedule a meeting at a later date, as soon as you learn not to tell me how to run my meetings.” 

Stumbling over his words, embarrassed, Mr. Browning and his colleagues hurry out of the office.

“Kirby,” Patrick yells, pulling Jonny down onto his lap. Kirby appears at the doorway, iPad in hand. “Shut the door, please, and tell Abby to set a dinner plate aside for the two of us.”

Kirby nods with furrowed eyebrows. “Yes sir, but— dinner hasn’t been made yet.”

“Oh really?” Patrick asks, and, shit. He’s been made. Patrick’s eyes slant over to Jonny, who ducks under his gaze and fiddles with Patrick’s belt buckle. “Thank you, Kirby. That’ll be all.”

Kirby gives him a curt nod and shuts the door. He’s new, a broke college kid looking for some cash and a good time. He’s Patrick’s assistant, but Jonny wouldn’t be surprised if Patrick grooms him into being the next Boss. Jonny likes the kid, really. They pick on Patrick about his height together. He just wishes he wouldn’t have blown Jonny’s story like that. 

“Ending a meeting because of me?” He asks, trying to divert Patrick’s attention away from the little white lie, as he loops his arms around Patrick’s shoulders, “Careful, they might think you’re slacking.”

A sharp smack against his asscheek makes him jump. Wide hands come up to settle against his hips and squeeze, dragging him forwards so that his bulge rubs against Patrick’s suit-clad cock. Jonny’s eyes flutter.

“If I’m slacking,” Patrick murmurs, low, hooking a finger into Jonny’s shirt, “it’s only because you won’t let me do my job. Too busy trying to get my dick.” 

Jonny rolls his hips, feeling Patrick harden up against his hip. “It’s a nice dick.” He grins, the tip of his tongue between his teeth. 

Patrick slides his hands up Jonny’s sides, bunching up his shirt. “You’re evil,” he says, voice like gravel, “You know how much I love you in my clothes.” He tugs, and Jonny gets the idea and shucks it off, stepping back so that he can peel off his compression shorts, then swings his massive thighs over Patrick’s legs to straddle him. 

“You know exactly what you were doing,” Patrick rumbles as Jonny takes his curls in two tight fists, “Coming in here, asking about ‘dinner,’” he trails his hands down Jonny’s back, over the swoop of the curve of his ass, and grabs two heaping handfuls that spill between his fingers, “dripping with sweat and in those stupidly tight shorts.” 

He sends another hard whack to Jonny’s ass, feeling it jiggle and heat up under his fingers almost immediately. Jonny moans, grinding down against Patrick’s hip. Finally, they’re getting somewhere.

“You wanted the meeting to end,” accuses Patrick, not meanly, and Jonny gives him an innocent one-shoulder shrug in response. 

“You wouldn’t fuck me,” he says, leaning down to capture Patrick’s lips with his own. Patrick opens up beneath him, letting him take control, getting his tongue in there. He tastes like cigarettes and mint gum, and Jonny eats it up, “Been waiting all day. Had to take matters into my own hands.”

Patrick squeezes his ass one more time. And then, in a flash, Jonny is bent forward against Patrick’s desk, ass out and face down. His teeth eat the cherrywood, but it’s good. It’s so good

Patrick presses his hardened cock into the cleft of Jonny’s ass, still tucked in his suit pants. Patrick’s still completely dressed, save for his discarded suit jacket and pushed-up sleeves, and it sends a shock of arousal through him. 

“All day, huh,” Patrick tuts, patting the fat of Jonny’s ass but not hitting, “Well, if you’re so needy, you won’t mind being fucked over my desk then, will you?”

Jonny makes a tiny noise. Yes, yes, _fuck._

He hears Patrick unbuckle his belt, but it never hits the floor. A zipper gets dropped and a cap gets opened, but Patrick’s pants stay on. A cold, wet finger slides into Jonny without warning and starts thrusting immediately. Jonny grunts but takes it, fingers clenching the edge of the desk. 

“Hope you don’t mind,” mentions Patrick, nonchalant, and adds a second finger that sends Jonny forward against the desk, “I figure that you’re just _so needy_ that I should rush prep. Need me to slow down?”

He says it in the same tone he was teasing with, but Jonny knows that that’s Patrick asking, that if Jonny said the word, he’d stop. Jonny shakes his head and pushes his hips back. “No,” he breathes, “Don’t stop.”

A third finger slides in, fanning out to get Jonny nice and open. Patrick’s got a nice cock, wide where Jonny is long, and it leaves Jonny feeling it for hours, days even, when they really get going.

The fingers disappear. Jonny whimpers at the loss, and in the silence that follows, feels a little ashamed about the sound. But— God, he can’t help it. He needs— he needs—

There’s a squelching sound, and then the lubed-up head of Patrick’s bare cock presses up against Jonny’s hole.

“Oh fuck,” he cries as Patrick pushes inside, going and going without stopping. Jonny scrambles for purchase, slicing his arms a little from the papers on the desk, as Patrick slides in the hilt.

Fuck, fuck, he’s so full. They hardly use condoms, but it’s still so overwhelming every time Patrick fucks in bare, hot and hard and throbbing. He can feel his _veins._

Patrick grabs his hips, one hand dry and the other slick with lube. He pulls out, dragging his cock out all the way, only so that the head of his cock is the only thing keeping Jonny open. He waits there a moment, breathing hard, thumbs rubbing tiny circles into Jonny’s hips. 

It’s kind of nice, in Jonny’s opinion.

And then he fucks back in with a sharp thrust forward, and Jonny spasms so bad that half of the papers on the desk go flying. Patrick’s ruthless about it, not giving Jonny any time to catch his breath. 

It’s a lot. Patrick always knows how to fuck Jonny good, has the location of his prostate memorized, and always holds onto him, whether it’s by the waist or the hips or his thighs. Sometimes, when the fuck face-to-face, Patrick will kiss the little scar on Jonny’s thigh where Smith’s bullet was. Then he’ll fuck the brains out of Jonny and break the bed in the process. They’ve had a good amount of replacements for the headboard, where it’s been smacked around so hard that it splits. If it wasn’t for the fact that there’s a windowsill behind half of the headboard that stops it from hitting the wall, there would be no wall.

Jonny’s cock is pinned between his body and the flat of Patrick’s desk. What was once cold wood is now warm and slippery from Jonny’s precome, providing a dirty slide up and down across his cock every time Patrick slams into and draws out. 

“What was your plan?” Patrick asks, breathing labored. Jonny tries to move back, give himself a break from the stimulation to his cock, but Patrick pushes him back down with a hand between his shoulder blades, and starts fucking him so fast that Jonny doesn’t have time to move before he’s being shoved upwards against the desk again. 

“To waltz in here and tell them to reschedule so that you could get a good dicking?” Patrick continues. One of his hands releases its death grip on Jonny’s hip, and he scratches his bitten-dull nails down Jonny’s thick thigh, then inwards to trail across the sensitive inner skin. 

Jonny closes his eyes and shivers. He can feel Patrick’s balls slap against the bottom curve of his ass in every thrust in. He leans into the sensation, widening his legs a little, and it shifts the angle so that Patrick’s cock fucks in even deeper. He makes a broken noise, takes a wet, shaky inhale. When he exhales, the wood beneath his mouth gets damp from his breath.

“Or maybe,” Patrick says in a grunt, “you wanted to show them what _I_ have.” He punctuates the ‘I’ with a long drag out and a sharp thrust in, and it punches Jonny in the prostate. “Felt so left out that you came into my office with those tight little shorts and _my_ shirt. Did you want me to fuck you right then? Bend you over my desk like you are right now and fuck you in front of all of them?”

A cry gets ripped from Jonny’s throat. He can feel his ass ripple every time Patrick’s hips make contact. No, he doesn’t want that. He just wants Patrick. He wants— 

“I bet you’d love it,” Patrick teases, low, and dips down to cover Jonny’s body with his own. It forces his dick snug inside him, his hips flush with Jonny’s ass. He rolls his hips in a dirty grind, short, stabbing thrusts in. It’s almost more intense — the assault right against his prostate, punching and dragging. Jonny can feel Patrick’s precome rolling across his prostate, and it makes him twitch, a whole new sensation that he can’t get away from. He yells, clenching, and hides his face in his arms.

“Yeah, you’d love it,” repeats Patrick as he grinds, “Laying you out across my desk, spreading your legs apart so that I can fuck my cock in, right in front of everyone. So they’d know that you’re off limits, that you're my slut to fuck and to use.”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Jonny gasps, shivering. Patrick gets a little more leverage and starts thrusting harder, still short, precise stabs but now with more power. “M’not a slut.”

“No,” Patrick agrees and presses a soft kiss against Jonny’s neck, teeth grazing across the skin, “because the only person you fuck is me.”

Jonny nods violently, pushing his hips back to take more of Patrick’s cock. He’s so close, he just needs a little more. 

“One day,” Patrick starts, then trails off as he sucks a bruise into Jonny’s neck. When he pulls back, there’s a lovely little red blooming under his teeth marks, brighter than the dull flush of Jonny’s blush that has spread from his face down to his chest. 

“One day,” he continues, and slips a hand between the desk and Jonny’s cock to fist it tight enough to make a desperate moan fall from Jonny’s lips, “I’ll stick you under my desk for a meeting, and you’ll suck my cock while I talk business with them not seven feet away. They’ll never know, or maybe they will. Maybe they’ll watch me come, knowing you’re under there with your throat around— fuck, around my cock—”

Jonny cries out and comes, seizing as ropes of come spray across the desk and Patrick’s hand. He tightens up so hard around Patrick’s cock that he can’t move, and he stays right where he is as he spills hot inside of Jonny’s ass. 

They stay like that for a beat or two, trying to catch their breaths. Jonny shifts his face so that he can rest his cheek against the cool part of the desk. Slowly, Patrick draws out, and a flood of come follows, dripping out of his hole and sliding down his legs. He feels Patrick lean over to grab something, and then there’s a wad of tissues cleaning up his thighs and his hole.

They get tossed somewhere, probably on the floor, and then Patrick sits down in his chair and drags Jonny into his lap, arms coiling around his waist. 

“You need another shower,” Jonny teases, still a little out of breath. 

Patrick hums and kisses the mark on Jonny’s neck that’s turning a cherry red. “Join me?”

Jonny hums, head lolling against Patrick’s broad shoulder. “M’kay,” he agrees, “but only if you wash my hair.”

Patrick laughs against Jonny’s neck, hot breath tickling him, “Deal.”

**Author's Note:**

> There will absolutely be a third installment at some point where Jonny sucks Patrick’s dick under his desk


End file.
